A Friendly Disagreement
by BlueInTheFace
Summary: SLASH Pyro's got something on his mind that just doesn't want to leave him alone...this 'something' is Bobby.


A Friendly Disagreement  
June 12, 2003  
  
Type: X-Men, the movie, J/B Rating: NC-17, for some hanky-panky 3rd POV  
  
***I don't own any of this-I'm not privileged or talented enough for something as great as the X-Men-I'm just playing ^_^ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
John had been friends with Bobby-how long? Three years? That sounded about right in his head as he sat slumped in the back of his History class, clicking his lighter like he always did.  
Click. Click. Click.  
"John, please," Ms. Munroe pleaded with him, stopping mid-sentence in her lesson. Without a word, he clicked it shut one last time and turned it in his palms, staring at her menacingly. She gave in, and resumed.  
But Johnny wasn't looking forward to learning anything about Charlemagne that day; something more important was itching in the back of his mind: something about the blue-eyed Don Juan he was living with. Sure, they had known each other a long time, and sure, they had been roommates ever since they started living at Xavier's school, but now he'd grown- different.  
Bobby wasn't Bobby anymore. He had become little more than Rogue's boy, respectively. He was always within arm's reach, but always too far for John to grasp. Too far for John to see. Bobby was leaving him, slowly but surely.  
But St. John was never the kind to think things through too deeply, for knowledge led to depression, in his case. His best friend seemed to be fading out of focus lately, ever since that southern harlot showed up with that natural sweetness that made his stomach turn.  
How could Bobby be so cruel to the friend that had always been there, the one who would attend to his every need when he came to him in the night, begging for a release? Any kind of release?  
Rogue was untouchable, plain and simple. What was he trying to get out of her? Company? Wasn't Johnny company enough for him, for the years past, for the nights they spent together, through good times and bad, and the way they promised it without words for the rest of their lives?  
Why did it all of a sudden make him think that he was talking about wedding vows?  
He was shot back from space into his seat in History, and his unconscious habit was winning him over.  
Click. Click. Click.  
Ms. Munroe glared at him, leaning against a desk at the front of the empty class room. The bell had rung; everyone was gone. She folded her arms and waited for him to say something, being patient. He had nothing to say that would have made any sense to her, so he stood and rushed out the door.  
  
Click.  
John was in his room-his and Bobby's room-and it was eleven at night. It was Saturday, for the love of God, so why wasn't he out socializing? Pyro doesn't need a social life. Well, he didn't before, when he actually had a best friend; that boy was all he needed.  
Best friend? Was it even right to call him that? Weren't they more than just buddies who played video games and cheated on homework when John never got it done?  
This would prove it: Bobby walked in the door, into the dark shadow that was enveloping Johnny's half-naked body on top of his sheets. He closed the door behind him, locking it discreetly, and hurriedly moved next to the occupied bed. After a moment's thought, he sat on the mattress, placing a hand on John's bare torso, gliding his fingers around his abs. A smile glimmered in his eyes and danced on his lips, inviting and suggestive. All that could be done on John's part would be to stare up into his eyes-those big, blue eyes-and wish it would all go away. If he wanted someone new, he could leave for good.  
"Johnny," whispered his friend in a husky tone, leaning in for a lover's kiss. He was rejected as said lover turned onto his side, away from him.  
"Not tonight," he murmured, burying his face in the pillow. Bobby smelled so good, but he couldn't collapse just because his insides were raging for his touch again. That pillow was doing a poor job of blocking out the cologne Bobby constantly smelled of so nicely.  
"Not tonight?" Bobby's voice was exasperated and astonished, and could have been disgusted if it weren't for his disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding! Come on," his voice softened again, "You're my saint." John could picture the way supple hands were gliding down his thigh, teasing the fabric of his pajama pants as one of Bobby's sexy smiles that always got the best of him showed on his face. "I'll do anything," he purred, nibbling on the boy's earlobe.  
The fiery saint was almost appalled now. Why was it that Bobby always got so worked up with Rogue, knew that she couldn't do anything, and so came to him in the night, pressuring him for a touch? John always did anything he wanted him to, almost pitying Bobby's sexual frustration.  
"Get her to do it if you want it so bad," John grumbled, wishing the tears would stay where they were, for heaven's sake, and he could fall into a slumber land where Bobby never existed so that Rogue could never interfere with anything. Damn that southern drawl.  
"Dammit, John, you know that's not fair." His voice kept low and in his left ear, his hot breath freezing, leaving little droplets of ice the moment it escaped his throat and touched John's skin.  
"She wears gloves; tell her to buy some rubber ones." John had crossed a line. That was going too far into personal territory for Bobby to stand. Blue eyes froze on the back of Johnny's head, staring blankly as the words echoed in the otherwise empty room. The wind blew some stray branches against the windowpane, shaking them both out of their trances of anger and disappointment. Bob sat up straight, folding his hands in his lap, wondering with embarrassment if that 'issue' between his legs would ever be daunted by his friend's insensitive tendencies.  
"That was cruel," he hissed quietly into the dimness surrounding him like a sheer blanket. Things were no more comfortable in a lying position, as the other discovered, gripping the bed sheets firmly and digging his nails in. Why couldn't he pass out now and not have to worry until the sun reared it's ugly head in a few hours? "What, are you jealous?"  
An accusation such as that could not go unnoticed; rolling over to face his demons, John's forearm accidentally brushed a poorly placed thigh and sent shivers racing through both of them. He glared up at a face that belittled him with that perfect mouth and perfect hair and precious jawline.  
"I don't love her," Bobby said firmly, pressing his hand more deeply into the mattress to steady himself, keeping his voice controlled so that he didn't wake up the entire school with his shouting.  
"And I suppose you love me?"  
A blank stare was the only response John received from that mask of popular beauty. Bobby was emotionally weak when it came to confrontations, and John knew it. He'd known it for years and thought he knew that he could win this argument.  
"How am I supposed to say that, Johnny?"  
Click.  
"'I love you.' It's that easy. Hell, I can say it; why does she always screw things up for us?" John's voice was becoming angrier with every word. By the end of his sentence, he was propped up on his elbows, snarling in Bobby's face. His hair was a mess, and the lighter in his hand reflected moonlight from outside. And Bobby's angry guise melted. "I love you," John repeated breathlessly.  
"It's not her fault," Bobby pleaded, lowering his eyes to his hands.  
"No, right-it's yours."  
Click. All it would take was a turn of the wheel in his hand and he could scorch the entire room, himself and all, and make it end.  
"Christ, Bobby," he roared as he threw his body out of bed, "What does she do for you? More importantly," he added, his voice piercing, "What do I do for you?" The latter question mattered more, and it was obvious.  
"Everything," was the word whispered sheepishly into the night. Bobby was always too strong to cry. Come to think of it, John could never recall a time he had seen his best friend shed a tear since they met. Sadly, he could count enough times he had to hide his sobs in his pillow so he didn't wake the other boy only feet away. "Was that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was still so soft, so comforting.  
"Was it the truth?" John's own voice dropped a few decibels, taking into account he couldn't handle screaming, even if it were his own.  
"Yes," Bobby choked out through thin air, finally looking up from his hands clasped so tightly before him. John had always been so attractive, no matter how devilishly handsome he made himself or how sorrow-wrought he was during the night. Bobby couldn't give up this prize that stood before him. It would be blasphemy to refuse an angel such as this the love that only he could offer.  
He stood silently and planted his feet on the floorboards within an arm's reach of his company. A step closer; another. Soon enough, they were close enough to brush noses against one another with an aching growing inside both of them. Moving in as if to fulfill a wish of John's, Bobby instead slid the lighter out of his hand and dashed across the room, a malevolent grin on his face. John reacted a moment too late and a startled sound escaped his mouth; he lunged forward to take it back, but landed flat on his bed.  
"Give it back, Bob," he growled, a forbidden smile tugging beneath the surface. He wrestled through the sheets, but was tangled for a moment.  
"Sorry, babe," the other taunted, "You'll have to take it from me." He flipped it in the air and caught it, waving it in front of Johnny's nose. John managed a kneeling position, still fighting off the sheets, as Bobby brushed a kiss on his neck.  
"Stop it," he laughed boyishly, both annoyed by the slyness of his lover and the way he was so inept that he could not conquer a cotton blanket. "Come back here," he shouted, finally jumping onto Bobby's back, tearing him to the ground. They crouched in a heap, wrestling each other down, trying to pin the other to no avail. Bobby removed himself from the floor and stood on his own bed, disheveling the once-perfect sheets that John hadn't already attacked that night.  
"I dare you," he chuckled, motioning for John to try his luck again. "Pick your sorry ass up, John!"  
"Dammit!" John charged at him, trying to take him by the knees, but Bobby shoved him straight back across the room, against the wall, just narrowly missing the sharp corner of a dresser that was chest-height. He pressed his mouth down on John's, forcing his tongue inside playfully.  
John was weak in the knees, being held against a wall by the wrists with a pelvis being shoved into his own. He was always a sucker for those lips. Why couldn't Bobby taste of anything other than honey? Why did he always have to be so damn inviting? John wished for oblivion-that would be easier than trying to figure all this out in the morning.  
Damn oblivion. This was too much fun.  
They sunk to the ground again, entwining their legs and arms, clawing at Bobby's clothes and ripping off his shoes. Their kissing never ceased; instead, it grew in intensity as John pushed him across the boards and onto the blanket he had left crumpled by the bed. He tore at his own pants, wanting as little as possible to come between them. Hands fumbled across bodies and down where they shouldn't have been. A silver lighter slid under the table unnoticed, knocked from passionate hands.  
By then they were bare, rolling over one another to kiss necks and bite shoulders and whisper into ears. They rubbed against each other with conviction and trailed fingers through each other's hair. John was practically inseparable from Bobby's leg, squeezing it tightly between both of his own from time to time.  
"I love you," Bobby breathed heavily between kisses. "I love you, John." His lover's rhythm slowed against him, accompanied by understanding eyes and, after a moment, more caressing of lips. John knew he meant it. It seemed superficial to only admit love whilst making love, but sincerity was Bobby's high point.  
  
John lay on Bobby's chest, rubbing him idly with a thumb. Bobby no longer even thought of Rogue that night; lying in a sweaty heap on the floor of their room with his best friend was enough for him to savor for a week.  
"I meant it-," Bobby said, brushing hair out of John's face.  
"I know you did," was the reply. He kissed the side of his boy's neck and closed his eyes, resting blissfully, long into the morning.  
  
~FIN~ 


End file.
